Trust
by totalqt16
Summary: It's been a year since ... IT hurt her. Can she put her trust into the hands of a geek?
1. Chapter 1

**My first non-Potter-related "book" fanfic.**

**Enjoy!**

**Trust**

It's around six at night.

Dave Petrakis is walking me home.

And, I'm smiling.

It's January, and the winter air feels cold on my lips.

The scabs I'd work diligently at making on them last year aren't healing up as fast as I'd liked, and the "caramel frape" lip balm, that I'd excepted from Heather as a "peace offering" isn't doing much to help – it burns.

I only took it to be polite. Heather's been slightly "sugar-coated" toward me, since the Marthas stamped her _membership card _null-and-void, and now that everyone knows the truth about what happened at that party, _I've _now been stamped the school heroine (having saved all the other "bunny-rabbits" from big-bad-wolf Andy) and, she seems to want in on my new-found social status.

Maybe I'll let her.

It's not exactly _wanted _anyway. So says the girl who just last year, was screaming inside for just about _anyone _to pretend to care ... go figure.

His – David's – hand brushes mine, and I feel sick.

Not roller-coaster sick.

Not Thanksgiving-coma sick.

And _definitely _not IT sick.

I knew, for sure I didn't feel that twisting, nag in the pit of my stomach — that overpowering urge to throw up.

This was ... _nice_.

Did I like him?

David Petrakis?

That geeky, awkward little hero, who'd had all "The Neck's" US history class throwing rose petals at his feet?

_The _David Petrakis – who had dared to defy all rules of social order, and actually "make nice", with everyone's favorite "party-busting asshole"?

Maybe I did.

His fingers curl around mine, and, even though town's amerced in the biggest "white wash" we've seen in decades, (or so says the over-the-top weatherman on Channel 9), I feel warm.

"Careful, Mel! Don't slip!"

He grips my hand tighter, when I make a mad dash to the sidewalk, to the left of our little path of footprints.

When we get there, virtually unharmed, I turn back to him, and present him with my best "unaffected" scowl.

He shrugs.

"I was only looking out for you," he claims, raising his hands, in a very I-come-in-peace kind of way. "... your current health is your prerogative – if you'd be content with a broken neck, then it's up to your own discretion."

I roll my eyes.

"We're here." It's the first time I've spoken since we started out.

"Yeah." he agrees. "So – I guess, I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

"Maybe you will." My casual attempt at flirting.

He leans in so fast, that I think I may have just been delirious from the cold.

He couldn't have just ... kissed me – could he?

My cheeks flush, at even the _possibility _of that _girly _little squeak coming from _me_.

_Why'd he do it?_

But, before I even have I chance to string together some lame form of questioning, the nerd's halfway down the block, calling out to me, like he's on some new medication.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right Mel? — You've gotta learn to trust me!"

It's around six-o'-five at night.

David Patrakis might have just kissed me.

And I'm smiling.

**Review, please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Trust - ?**

My smile is crumbling.

Falling piece-by-piece into the abyss, into a realm of non-existence.

Like a mushed cookie in the hands of a one-year old.

_Stupid, very stupid!_ Chants Melinda Two, the bunny-rabbit me who eats all her vegetables, never sleeps in the dark, and, during brief moments of irrational insanity, attempts to "make nice" with Mr. Neck – she's mad at me.

_You shouldn't have let him kiss you. Touching is _bad_. We _hate _being _touched.

_Leave her alone, and just be happy we're allowed to have _fun _now – remember how life was before? Home – school. School — home. BOR–ING! _Melinda One decides to show, giving me a hard mental pat on the back, doing cartwheels in my brain, and twirling around like a Disney princess.

The thought of spinning makes me sick, catching all the pretty-winged butterflies in an industrial-strength net, and hauling them off somewhere.

The two Melindas are too busy fighting to get them back.

_Stupid Melinda! Bad, bad Mel! _Melinda Two carries a rolled-up newspaper, while Melinda One gives me a thumbs-up, and tackles the over to the ground like a pumped-up football player. Her eyes are almost red.

Question One: Is there an asylum somewhere that serves decent meals?

Question Two: If not, is it too early to join a convent?

Mel Two loosens her head-lock on poor, blue-cheeked Mel One and glares at me.

I had just taken notice of the that David, my future-surgeon friend, had gotten his braces off the summer before last year, and, true to my ninth-grade beliefs, he _was_ pretty cute.


End file.
